


two for the price of one

by squadrickchestopher



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Established Relationship, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, POV Clint Barton, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Threesomes, bar hookup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:01:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28604121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher
Summary: Clint grins. “We’ve got a big bed. And sometimes, if we’re in the mood, we look for another person to help fill it for a night. I wanted to see if you’d be interested.”It’s more direct than he usually is. But it’s worth it to see Bucky’s eyes widen, to see the way he almost chokes on his drink.“Shit,” he manages, spluttering a little. “I—what?”
Relationships: Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Steve Rogers
Comments: 20
Kudos: 123





	two for the price of one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hawksonfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawksonfire/gifts).



> for Arson, hope this hits what you were looking for <3
> 
> No beta, I claim my mistakes like a man

“I want that one.”

Steve follows where Clint’s looking. “Him? No way.”

“Why not?”

“Look at him, Clint. He’s got a college sweatshirt on. He’s too young.”

Clint studies him. He does look kind of young in the dim bar lighting, but the more Clint looks, the more he sees through the illusion. Everything about him—the set of his stubbled jaw, the way he’s sitting on the barstool, the line of his shoulders—says he’s got both years and milage on him.

“Everyone’s young to you, you’re like…a million years old.” Clint shoves his shoulder. “C’mon, Steve. He’s hot. He’s drinking. He has a picture of a cat for his phone background. I want him.”

“He’s ex-military,” Sam says, sliding another drink over Clint’s way. “For the record. Did that, then college. He’s older than you think. Definitely old enough to play.”

Steve takes the drink before Clint can grab it. “How do you know?”

“People tell bartenders everything,” Sam says. “Also, I know him. Been in here a lot the last few weeks.”

“What’s his name?” Clint asks.

“Go ask him yourself. I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

Clint grins. “You’ve already been in the middle of this,” he says, gesturing between himself and Steve, who rolls his eyes. ”So—”

“Go talk to him,” Sam repeats, grabbing a beer from under the counter. “He won’t bite.”

“Darn,” Clint says, getting up. “I like a little biting.” He winks at Sam, who looks both fond and exasperated, and pats Steve’s shoulder. “You coming, or am I breaking the ice?”

Steve shrugs. “If you can get him on board, I’m in.”

“Awesome.” Clint grabs the drink from his hand and carries it over to where his potential threesome interest is sitting. “Hi,” he says, tapping his hand on the bar. “Can I join you?”

There’s a moment of appraisal, blue-grey eyes sweeping over him. It’s not even sexual in nature, just a cataloguing, like he’s sizing Clint up for something. It screams ex-military, laced with a degree of competence, and Clint feels his heart beat a little faster. _Oh, yeah. This one’s perfect._

“Suit yourself,” the guy says. He kicks out the bar stool next to himself and curls a hand around his drink.

Clint hops on the bar stool. “I’m Clint,” he says, offering a hand. The guy shakes it. “And you?”

“James, professionally,” the guy says. “Bucky to my friends.”

Clint grins. “What do I gotta do to get in the second category?”

Bucky eyes him again, and a little smirk steals over his face. Clint’s already in love with it. “I suspect you’ll get there.”

“Awesome,” Clint says, and raises his drink. “Whatcha drinking?”

“Not sure,” Bucky says, and then his eyes land on the arrow tattoo along Clint’s forearm. “Sam picked it. I trust him. Nice tattoo.”

“Ah, thanks.” Clint traces over the arrow. “My friend Natasha designed it.” He takes a drink. “You got any?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, grinning a little, “but none that I can show off here.”

Clint laughs. “That’s fair.” He gestures at the college sweatshirt. “So, you in school?”

“Yeah. Studying mechanical engineering, focus on prosthetics.” He turns a little and holds up his left hand, and Clint’s jaw nearly hits the floor at the sight. It’s a prosthetic, but the most amazing one he’s ever seen in his life. It moves like a natural limb, seamlessly, like it’s his original hand. The whole thing is matte black and accented with gold, extending up past the edge of his sleeve. As Clint stares, Bucky wiggles his fingers, then makes a fist.

“That’s amazing,” Clint says. “Is that a Stark?”

“Wakandan Manufacturing, actually. They were running a trial, and I volunteered.”

Clint wants to ask about his original arm, but he figures it’s probably not the time. “It’s cool,” he says. “That how you landed on mechanics?”

“Yeah.” Bucky shrugs. “I know what it’s like, you know? Want other people to have a shot at what I’ve got. I know I was lucky.” He sips his drink. “What do you do?”

“Archery,” Clint says casually. He tries not to drop the Avenger thing right away if he can help it, although dating an American icon doesn’t really allow them to lay low too much in public. “Among other things.”

Bucky is eyeing him, a strange look on his face. “You…” he starts, then frowns, like there’s something he can’t quite figure out.

Clint casually sips his drink. “I what?”

A heartbeat of silence, and then understanding dawns. “Oh,” he says. ”Oh shit. You—you’re _Hawkeye_.”

“Guilty,” Clint admits. “Nice to meet you.”

Bucky stares at him, something like fascination in his gaze. It’s weird—usually those looks are directed at Steve, not him. He rarely gets recognized if he’s not directly on Steve’s arm. But Bucky is looking him up and down again, and now there’s a heat to his gaze, eyes lingering over Clint’s exposed arms.

“Nice to meet you,” he finally echoes, raising his glass. “I mean—wow. Hawkeye. I—holy shit.” He flushes red, takes a drink. “Sorry,” he says after a moment. “Trying not to do the whole stammering star-struck thing, but I kinda wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“The Tower gets boring,” Clint says. “And Sam pours the best drinks.”

Bucky nods. “You come here by yourself?”

“Nope.” Clint gestures to the side, and Bucky leans around him to see Steve on the other end of the bar. He’s chatting with an overly drunk girl, politely redirecting her hands, and Clint stifles a laugh before he turns back. He’s expecting the interest in him to wane, which is usually what happens. Clint knows how he compares to Steve, especially in terms of general sex appeal, but when Bucky looks back at him, there’s still the same heat in his gaze. More, almost.

“You guys are together, right?” he asks, like he’s confirming a suspicion.

Clint nods.

“So what’re you doing over here, talking to me?”

“Honestly?”

“Would be nice,” Bucky says, sipping his drink.

Clint grins. “We’ve got a big bed. And sometimes, if we’re in the mood, we look for another person to help fill it for a night. I wanted to see if you’d be interested.”

It’s more direct than he usually is. But it’s worth it to see Bucky’s eyes widen, to see the way he almost chokes on his drink.

“Shit,” he manages, spluttering a little. “I— _what?_ ”

“Only if you’re interested,” Clint says easily, patting him on the back. “No pressure. We can also just chat and have drinks. You seem like a decent guy, and I like meeting people.”

Bucky stares at him. “Uh,” he finally says. “Are you— _me?_ Are you sure?”

“You’re hot,” Clint tells him. “Really hot, you’ve got an awesome metal arm, you want to help people for a living, and there’s a picture of a cat on your phone. You’re my kind of person. And his, too.” He leans back, then remembers he’s sitting on a stool, and has to grab the bar to keep upright. “So?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, still looking a little shocked. “I—fuck, yes. Lemme just—” He fumbles in his pocket, pulling out a worn leather wallet. Then he looks over at Clint, face flushing red. “Wait—did you mean now?”

He hadn’t, but honestly if Bucky’s that eager, he’s down for it. Steve’s probably ready to leave anyway. “Yeah,” he says, and puts his hand on the wallet. “Drinks on me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.” He catches Sam’s eye, gestures to the drinks, and Sam nods. Then he tips his head towards Steve. “Wanna come meet Captain America?”

“We’ve met,” Bucky says faintly, getting up and shrugging a leather jacket on. “He saved my life once. So did you, actually.”

“I’d like to say I remember,” Clint says, “but I save a lot of people. It’s a daily thing.”

Bucky snorts. “Modest, aren’t you?”

“Nothing to be modest about. I’m an all-around fantastic guy.” Clint flashes a thumbs-up to Steve, who looks relieved. It only takes him a moment to extricate himself from the drunk girls, and then he’s grabbing his jacket and walking over to them.

“Hi,” he says, dropping a kiss on Clint’s mouth. “So, who’s this?”

“This is James,” Clint says. “Professionally. Bucky to his friends.”

“Bucky’s fine,” Bucky says, still sounding a little dazed about the whole thing. “It’s—yeah. Bucky’s good. Uh. Hi, Captain—”

“Call me Steve,” Steve says smoothly, offering a big hand. Bucky shakes it. “I called us a StarkCar. We going to our place?”

Clint looks at Bucky, who realizes after a moment that he’s expected to answer. “Oh—yeah. That’s fine. It’s fine with me.” He laughs a little, a blush creeping up his neck. It’s adorable as hell. “God, I’m sorry. I sound like an idiot, this is just not what I was—”

“You sound fine,” Clint assures him. “Don’t worry. We know this is new. We want you to be comfortable.” They go outside and get in the car, all three grown men fitting comfortably in the backseat— _thank you, Tony Stark._

“So, Bucky,” Steve says. “Clint lay things out for you?”

“It’s not a mission briefing,” Clint says, rolling his eyes. “And no, I hadn’t gotten that far.” He turns to face Bucky, who looks like he can’t quite believe he’s in the backseat of a car with Hawkeye and Captain America. “So like I said—we want you to be comfortable. We—” he gestures to himself and Steve “—are pretty open to anything.”

Bucky nods slowly. “Anything,” he repeats, sounding a little unsure.

“Yeah.” He rubs a hand through his hair. “Obviously nothing you’re not cool with, and if that’s the case, you gotta let us know. But otherwise, whatever you wanna do—sit and watch, or participate, it’s totally up to you.” He leans forward a little, lets a little grin slip over his face as his mouth brushes Bucky’s ear. “Personally, I kinda wanna get my mouth on your dick.” His hand slides up Bucky’s thigh, just close enough to make his breath hitch. “All of that work for you?”

“Yes,” Bucky says, eyes wide. His pupils are blown, pulse visibly thrumming in his neck. “Fuck, yes.”

“We won’t do anything you don’t like,” Steve assures him. “You know what a safeword is?”

“Of course.”

“You got one?”

Bucky shakes his head.

“Red, yellow, green,” Steve says. “We’re not breaking out the whips and chains or anything, but we’ve found that’s the best way to communicate in the middle of things. Green is good, yellow is slow down and talk, red is full-stop.”

“Red, yellow, green,” Bucky repeats. “Good, talk, stop.”

“Good boy,” Clint says. It slips out of him automatically, but the reaction is instantaneous—Bucky’s breath hitches again and he swallows, the sound of it audible in the silent car.

Steve grins like a shark, teeth glinting. “You like that,” he says. It’s not a question.

Bucky nods wordlessly.

“Silence doesn’t fly with us,” Clint says. “You gotta use your words. If nothing else, when we ask you about something, you give us a color. We need to know.”

“Green,” Bucky whispers, fingers curling on his thighs. He’s already getting hard, cock pushing against the tight fabric of his black skinny jeans. He’s so hipster it’s almost painful, and Clint just fucking loves it. “So green.”

“Praise kink,” Clint says, and nudges Steve. “Look, I found you a friend.”

“Shut up,” Steve mumbles, but he’s turned on too. Clint knows him too well for him to hide the signs.

He turns back to Bucky. “We’ll check in as we go,” he says, “but I need to know now if there’s any hard no’s to avoid from the get-go.”

Bucky swallows again and flattens his hands. “Don’t grab my shoulder,” he says, gesturing to the metal one. “Uh—scars…you can touch but don’t ask. I don’t like things around my neck. Or name-calling. Like, mean things. Slut, whore. That kinda thing.” He rubs a hand through his hair. “That’s…all I can think of? Off the top of my head.”

“Okay,” Clint says easily. “Sounds good. I don’t like being hit. Neither of us like having our eyes covered. He doesn’t like being left alone, either, but that’s probably not going to come up.” The car pulls up to their apartment building. “Hop out, then.”

He has a sudden urge to push Bucky against the brick wall and kiss him, but he controls himself, at least waiting until they’re upstairs and the door is closed behind him. _Then_ he kisses Bucky, easily pinning him against the wall and claiming his mouth in a rough, possessive way. Bucky makes a short noise of surprise, but then he melts right into it, kissing Clint back with an enthusiasm bordering on overeager.

“Things I do like,” Clint murmurs, pulling back with a satisfied grin as Bucky gasps for air, sagging against him. “I like being in charge. I like making sure my partners are having a good time.” He slides his hand down Bucky’s side, palms over his ass. “I like it when they do what I say, so I can tell them how good they are. I like—”

“He’s bossy,” Steve cuts in, and presses himself against Clint’s back, tipping his head to the side for a kiss of his own. “That’s what he likes.”

“Shut up,” Clint tells him, but he’s grinning, and Steve is offering him a fond smile. “But yeah. That’s the gist of it.”

“I’m good with that,” Bucky manages, eyes flicking between the two of them. “I like—I like that.”

“Good,” Clint says, and steps back from him. “Alright. I’m going down the hall real quick, gonna grab the mail. Steve, why don’t you take him and start getting ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve says, throwing up a ridiculous salute. “Bucky, you good with that?”

“Yeah.” Bucky still looks dazed. “Yes. Green.”

“Good boy,” Clint praises again, and Bucky’s knees wobble. Clint grins, motions for Steve to take care of things, and then goes out the door.

He doesn’t _really_ need to grab the mail, but quite honestly, he likes the anticipation. The build-up. Likes imagining what he’s going to see, likes thinking about Bucky and Steve getting their hands on each other. He’s also found that it helps their extra person relax if one of them leaves the room for a bit. Helps kill some of the _holy-fuck-how-did-I-get-in-bed-with-superheroes_ that usually seems to accompany something like this.

Clint’s less intimidating than Steve is, technically, but since he broke the ice, it’s only fair that Steve gets a few moments alone with Bucky too. So he loiters a little, picks his way through the mail, chats a bit with their neighbor and promises to come take a look at her kitchen sink tomorrow. When it’s been about ten minutes, he makes his excuses and goes back, dropping the letters on the counter. He kicks his shoes off by the door, tosses his jacket over the couch, and heads back to the bedroom.

When he pushes open the door, he’s greeted with a sight that’s even better that what he was imagining. Steve’s laying on the bed, still wearing his jeans. His hands are roaming over every inch of skin on Bucky’s naked body as they kiss, and _god_ there’s a lot of it. Miles of it, clinging to shifting muscles and the way he’s straddling Steve is just absolutely hitting every single button Clint has. The metal arm is even more incredible than he’d imagined, looking absolutely gorgeous in the dim light of the room.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the door, and they both turn to look. Bucky’s mouth is kiss-swollen already, his hair loose around his face. He blushes when he sees Clint, like they’ve been caught doing something.

“Hi,” he says, looking back down at Steve. “We were just—”

“I can see what you were doing,” Clint says casually. He walks in a little more, moves closer to the bed. “I liked it.”

Bucky blushes more, and Clint grins, climbing onto the bed. He leans down and kisses Steve, making it a little more filthy than is really called for. “That for me?” he asks, tipping his head towards Bucky.

“In a minute,” Steve says, nudging him away. “I haven’t finished yet.” He reaches up, rolls one of Bucky’s nipples between his fingers. “He makes pretty noises, you know.”

“I can imagine.” And then he doesn’t have to, a little moaning sigh coming from Bucky as he rolls his hips, arching into Steve’s hand. “Mm. You’re right, that is pretty.” He reaches up and tugs his own shirt off, tossing it to the side, and reaches for Bucky. “Should get him to make more.”

“I’m not done yet,” Steve says, batting Clint’s hand away. “Sit and watch the show.”

Clint scowls at him, but Steve reaches up and tugs Bucky down into another kiss. It’s absolutely _filthy_ , all tongue and obscene noises, and it’s hot as hell. Clint palms himself over his pants, immeasurably turned on. His other hand reaches out and skates over Bucky’s thigh, tracing over a pair of dice inked there before dancing along the curve of his hipbone. He’s hard too, cock leaking as he grinds down against Steve, and Clint’s suddenly desperate to get his mouth on it.

“Okay,” he says, and they break apart. “Bucky—turn around. Sit on his face.”

Bucky stares at him for a moment, looking like he’s not quite comprehending what Clint’s saying. Steve, on the other hand, grins and tugs Bucky’s hips. “C’mere,” he says, rearranging him, and Bucky goes, a mixture of excitement and apprehension in his expression.

“You good with this?” Clint asks.

“Green,” Bucky murmurs. “I just—” He hesitates.

“You what?”

“It’s been awhile,” Bucky says, “and I kinda—you two—I really—” He blushes again _._

“He has a crush on us,” Steve says, catching Clint’s eye. “Has for a long time, apparently. He thinks you’re very hot.” _I agree,_ is the unspoken line behind that, and Clint raises an eyebrow at him. Steve gives him a steady look right back, a challenge somewhere in his eyes.

“I see,” Clint says, dropping it and turning to Bucky. “So this is like, number-one fantasy for you?”

“Kinda,” Bucky admits, still bright red. He shuffles backwards as Steve tugs his hips, settling with his knees on either side of Steve’s head. “I just sort of put it in the ‘never gonna happen’ category? And then yo— _ohhh_ —” He cuts off with an obscene moan as Steve pulls him into place, big hands spreading his ass open.

“Jesus,” Clint says as he strips his pants off, not sure if he wants to watch that or Bucky’s face more. “That’s fuckin’ hot, babe.”

Steve hums in acknowledgement, and Bucky gasps, head tilting back. Clint can’t see much from this angle, but he’s been in that position before. He knows what that feels like.

He surges forward and kisses Bucky, swallowing his next moan. “I wanna suck your dick, pretty boy,” he says. “Can I? Please?”

“Yes,” Bucky manages, the word strained as he rocks back onto Steve’s mouth. “Holy fuck, yes, green, whatever—”

“Good.” Clint grins and arranges himself accordingly, making sure that his dick brushes over Steve’s—mostly because the answering shudder and moan is too perfect. Then he leans forward, kitten-licking at the tip of Bucky’s cock before sucking it into his mouth, stretching his lips around it.

Bucky’s answering noise is _indescribable,_ long and low and filthy as hell. He jolts forward, then rocks back, like he doesn’t know where he wants to be. Steve’s hands tighten on his hips, holding him in place, and Clint pulls off enough to grin at him. “You do make pretty sounds,” he says, stroking his hand up and down Bucky’s dick a few times. “I like that.”

“Please,” Bucky breathes, and he puts a hand on Clint’s shoulder—steadying himself, Clint’s pretty sure. “Please, _god_ —”

“I’m flattered,” Clint says, “but that’s aiming a little high for me.”

Steve laughs, and Bucky makes a high-pitched whining sound. After a moment, Clint takes pity on him and leans down again, taking him back in his mouth. He sets up a steady rhythm, bobbing his head up and down, thrilled with the weight of Bucky on his tongue, and the taste, and the bitten off noises he and Steve are eking out of him—

He slides a hand down and rubs his palm over Steve’s dick, pressing against the rough fabric of his jeans. Steve makes a muffled noise of pleasure, and Bucky in turn does the same, like a glorious feedback loop. Clint snickers even as he takes Bucky a little deeper. He loves this—being able to drive both of them insane while barely doing anything, it’s _so_ amazing—

He pops off again, grinning as Bucky whines, and reaches over to the nightstand for the lube. “Gonna ride your dick,” he says, and pats Steve’s leg. He gets a thumbs-up in acknowledgement as Steve lifts his hips enough for Clint to wriggle his pants off. It makes Clint’s heart warm, because Steve is an absolute dork, but he’s _Clint’s_ dork, which just makes everything so much better. Even more better is the way Bucky whimpers at the words, glassy eyes fixed on Clint like he’s the best thing Bucky’s ever seen.

“His mouth is _good_ ,” Clint says knowingly, lubing Steve up. Then he swings a leg over, lines up, and sinks onto his cock with a low groan, enjoying the stretch and the fullness. He loves so many things about Steve, but he has to admit that the man’s dick is definitely up there on the list. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”

He leans forward then, mouthing at Bucky’s dick again. It’s not the best angle, but it works, allowing him to grind down on Steve while sucking Bucky off. A little uncomfortable, maybe, but worth it for the way Bucky gasps and puts a hand on Clint’s head, gently curling through his hair for a moment before falling to his shoulder.

Clint pops off after a minute, taking him in hand, and rubs his thumb over the head of his dick. “Doing so good for me, sweetheart. You gonna come?”

Bucky nods. “Can I?” he whispers, the words slipping out of him. “Please?”

“Yeah,” Clint tells him, nearly knocked over by how fucking hot that is. He wasn’t going to make Bucky ask, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Clint can’t imagine doing it any other way. And Steve must agree, because his fingers tighten on Bucky’s thighs, and Bucky _keens,_ grinding back onto his mouth.

Clint picks up the pace of his hand. “Come for me,” he says, watching Bucky’s eyes as they glaze over, head tilted back to reveal the gorgeous line of his throat. He wishes he could keep this view forever, have Steve draw it out on paper. He wants to frame it. Hang it on a wall. Splash it on a fucking billboard. It’s the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen in his life, this wanton display of need and desire and desperation—

Bucky comes quietly, a sharp gasp falling from him as he spills into Clint’s hand, dripping down onto Steve’s abs. “Fuck,” he manages, one hand reaching down to Clint. “Stop, please—”

Clint stops and moves back, fucking himself further onto Steve’s dick. He watches with delight as Bucky pretty much topples to the side, limbs loose and expression dazed. Steve looks a little dazed too, but he grins wickedly at Clint, mouth and chin shiny with spit. “That was fun,” he says, and Clint grins right back at him.

He sits up a little, hissing in a breath as Steve’s dick nudges his prostate. “Damn right it was,” he says, reaching over to put a hand on Bucky’s ankle. “You doing okay, pretty boy?”

“I think I died,” Bucky says—slurs, almost. “Am I dead?”

“Better not be,” Clint says, grinding down on Steve’s dick just to watch the way he arches in response to it. “That would ruin the mood.”

“Ha,” Bucky says, and he rolls over, already looking a little more alert. His eyes skim over Clint, and how his hands are splayed on Steve’s chest, and the way Steve is making soft noises every time Clint rocks onto him. There’s an endless amount of desire in his gaze, and a _wanting_ that’s so plain and open that it almost breaks Clint’s heart to see it.

Steve’s hands settle on Clint’s waist, distracting him for a moment. “Clint,” he says, and Clint drags his attention back to him, rubbing a thumb over his nipple. Steve’s always so sensitive here—if Clint wants to, he can make him come from this alone—and it’s fun to watch the way he writhes.

“I’m here,” Clint says. “You okay?”

Steve nods, his own thumbs moving in circles along Clint’s hipbones. “Want to fuck you,” he says.

Clint raises an eyebrow. “You are fucking me.” He rolls his hips, smirking as Steve sucks in a breath.

“No, I—” Steve scowls. “Wanna _fuck_ you, Clint.” He pushes a little at him. “Can I?”

Clint knows what he’s asking for, but there’s few things in this world he loves more than teasing Steve. “Use your words, honey,” he says. “We gave Bucky that rule, I think we should stick to it.”

Steve scowls again. “Wanna flip you over and fuck you into this mattress until you’re screaming for it,” he says, and Clint shivers at his words, nodding before the sentence is even finished.

“Thought you were in charge,” Bucky says, watching them.

“In charge doesn’t mean on top,” Clint says, rolling his hips again. “Just means he’s gotta ask nice.” He leans forward, locking eyes with Steve. “Which he did. And I’d like that, pretty boy. I’d like that a lot.”

Steve rolls them, and Clint ends up face down in the mattress with his ass hiked up in the air. His face is close to Bucky’s thigh, and he props himself up enough to trace his tongue over the outlined muscles. “Hi,” he says, raising his head. “You doing alright?”

“I’m great,” Bucky says. “Like you said. Mind blown.” He looks at Steve with something akin to adoration, and then down at Clint again with the same expression. Staring between the two of them like he still isn’t entirely sure this is happening to him.

“Good.” Clint arches his back in a movement he _knows_ is irresistible—god knows Steve’s told him enough times—and turns his head to look at him. “You gonna fuck me, or just sit there? We got an audience, you know.”

“I know,” Steve says, and he snaps his hips forward into Clint, hard enough to draw a short noise out of him. “I want him to watch you come apart too.” He leans forward, grinding just right into Clint’s prostate, and puts his mouth by Clint’s ear. “Can I do that, sweetheart? Can I wreck you?”

And oh, if _that_ doesn’t push a million buttons, all of them the right ones. “Yes,” Clint manages, nodding frantically. “Oh god, yes, please do that—”

Steve grins—Clint can’t see it, but he fucking knows—and starts fucking Clint in long, steady strokes. “He likes being touched,” he says to Bucky. “You can touch him. Anywhere you want.” There’s an amused note to his voice. “He makes pretty noises too.”

“Fuck you,” Clint says to him, but then he moans softly as Bucky’s hand settles on the back of his neck, squeezing.

“Yeah he does,” Bucky murmurs, fingers rubbing in a slow circle. It’s his metal hand, too, which just adds to it—god, Clint wants that _all_ over him— “I like it.”

“Keep touching him,” Steve orders, and he moves a little faster, setting up an almost punishing pace. Clint keens and writhes underneath him, fingers curling into the bedcovers as he pushes himself up to his hands. Bucky watches with an expression bordering on rapturous, eyes moving from Clint’s face to where Steve is fucking into him.

Then he gets a mischievous little smirk, and he dips his hand underneath Clint, wrapping around his cock and thumbing over the head. His metal hand is warm, and smooth, and it feels fucking incredible against his sensitive skin. Clint whines high in his throat, nodding frantically as Bucky holds his hand still on the underside, letting Steve’s thrusts push Clint forward into his too-light grip.

“You’re gorgeous,” Bucky whispers, and Clint whines again, already coming apart at the seams. He’d wanted this to last a little bit longer, but _god_ the way Bucky is looking at him, combined with the ruthless way Steve is fucking him—yeah, he’s not gonna last long at all.

“Keep going,” he says to Steve, who grunts in acknowledgement. They’ve done this before, many, many times. Steve knows how much he can take after he comes, how much he likes being fucked when he’s oversensitive and unable to do anything about it. Except he probably won’t get much of that tonight; Steve’s already making those short noises that tells Clint he’s about close to coming himself—

The mischievous little smirk gets a little wider, and then Bucky is suddenly squirming underneath Clint. It can’t be comfortable, but Clint’s _what the fuck are you doing_ is suddenly obliterated by the sensation of Bucky’s mouth on his cock, by the way his tongue flicks over the head.

“Mother _fuck_ —” is all he manages, and then he’s coming, the orgasm practically ripped from him in a wave of sparks that seems to cascade down his spine. His arms tremble, collapsing him down to one elbow. “Jesus _Christ_ —”

“Aiming a little high,” comes the response from underneath him, and Clint would laugh if he had the energy or brainpower for it.

Steve comes a moment later, draping his own body over Clint’s as he grinds into him, choking out his name as he presses soft kisses to Clint’s sweat-damp hair.

Bucky extricates himself from underneath Clint. The three of them end up sprawled across the bed, exhausted and sated, and Clint thinks—not for the first time tonight—they they struck gold with this one. He rarely, if ever, feels _this_ good after a hookup.

“I should go,” Bucky says eventually, and Clint picks his head up, realizing that it’s past midnight now. He’d lost some time, floating out among the stars in his post-orgasm haze.

Steve sits up a little. “You could,” he says, and meets Clint’s eyes. Perks of dating as long as they have—they don’t even have to say anything. He just _knows_. “But you don’t have to.”

Bucky looks confused at that, and Clint puts a hand on his leg. “What he means,” he says softly, “is that it’s late, the bed is big, and we’d like you to stay. If you want.”

“Why?” comes the response, and it’s such a loaded syllable that Clint wonders what memories are behind it. Wonders how many beds Bucky’s been kicked out of, how many midnight taxis he’s had to take, how many people have told him they don’t want him around.

“Because I want you to,” he says. “I can give you a list of reasons, but the basics of it is, I like you, and I want to make you breakfast in the morning. Maybe have a round two, if you’re interested. Can’t do that if you run off.”

Bucky looks like he’s considering it, the _wanting_ written all over his face again. “And after that?”

“We’ll talk about it,” Clint says. “We’re not making promises, we’re not making demands. You can go, if you want.” He rolls a little closer, moving until his mouth is only inches from Bucky’s. “But you’re welcome to stay.” He kisses him—soft, easy, then adds, “Please.”

“Okay,” Bucky whispers. “I’ll stay.”

Clint smiles at him, kisses him again. Then he gets up and goes into the bathroom, wiping himself down before bringing some washcloths back to the other two. He cleans them both up—Steve’s used to it, kissing him in thanks, but Bucky has a look of wonderment on his face as Clint moves gently over his body.

He tosses the cloths in the bathtub and crawls back into bed. Bucky’s in the middle, and Clint’s about to ask him if he’s okay with it, but the expression on his face is so content that he just leaves it.

Steve tugs the blankets over them, and looks up, meeting Clint’s gaze. _You good?_ he mouths.

Clint looks down at Bucky, who’s already half-asleep. He thinks about tomorrow morning—sleeping in a little, making breakfast, maybe kissing Bucky some more.

“I’m good,” he says, smiling at Steve. “Happy.”

“Good,” Steve says, and he looks down at Bucky, a soft expression stealing over his face. “Me too.”

Clint knows that look. It’s the same one he got when Clint brought Lucky home, or the first night he introduced Steve to Sam. It says _we’re keeping this one,_ and honestly? Clint can’t bring himself to argue otherwise.

“Works for me,” he murmurs, getting a tired, but happy smile in return.

“Love you,” Steve says, and settles himself into the blankets, tossing an arm over Bucky’s waist.

“Love you too,” Clint murmurs, doing the same, and he drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/)


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